5/16/2015

A wild circling rush of hawk,
from their dark throats the sound of a carpenter's tool
chafing steel or wood. Also, the sharp cry
of the carpenter's daughter whose hand
slides towards splinter like hawks
slide against sky.

Like splinter or thief, the whirling hunters
find their mark ignoring obvious gifts-
small birds, ripe berries, grub
preferring to steal what has not
been given to them.

The uneasy heart continuesto shape itself.

Beneath them, scattered fists
of resting wolves like fur coats
dropped carelessly in the evening heat
of a garden party, their jeweled-button eyes
admire the birds's craft like tourists at market
inspecting trinkets they are not allowed
to hold or touch.

The heart becomes larger, breaking surface.Nearby a creature, once of nature himself,
Cephisuss cursed, arrested by glittering darkness & light,
he now recognizes as self. How he's missed
the cries of hawk, the keen discernment
of the wolf's eye, the rolling, spitting hills.